Same Hands

In the trenches I hold him

his poor wing still broken

I promise some day he’ll go free.

In the chaos I lost him,

my poor pigeon friend, will no

longer find hands that fend.

And yet, down my sniper, I catch

a brief glance of a soldier on

opposite lines; he’s small and

unnoticed, an enemy target,

with one small grey bird

in his arms.

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Categories: Poetry | 1 Comment

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One thought on “Same Hands

  1. Kendra

    This is really beautiful Breanna!

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